Thursday, September 12, 2013

"Sometimes I feel that life is passing me by, not slowly either, but with ropes of steam and spark-spattered wheels and a hoarse roar of power or terror. It's passing, yet I'm the one who's doing all the moving."

~Martin Amis, Money

When we were children the world was at our service

and life was a large menu before our eyes.

All the choices were a wonderful entre and each dish we wanted to try.Every day was like a train ridethat seemed to move too slow,Yet with time it gained momentumand faster and faster it did go.The places that pass fly fasterlike migrant birds in flight.Everyday seems to grow shorteras life's chores increase in size.In time we are all grown upand the tables seem to turn,like smoke from the steam enginewhere the coals char and burn.

Then the world becomes our masterand we provide it our best seat,and life's menu gets smallerthat we need glasses to try and read.For time is a fast moving trainand the conductor we are not.So passenger of life take the provisionsand in return give it all you've got.